HierarchyofNeed
by iimplicitt
Summary: In the throes of the second wizarding war, Delilah Meddows is killed by no other than Lord Voldemort. However, instead of dying like she was supposed to, Delilah finds herself at Hogwarts in 1943. She tries to tread carefully, but Tom Riddle is not someone so easily ignored. [Tom Riddle/Original Female Character]


Air invaded her lungs so roughly that they couldn't take it anymore, they were expanded to their limit and they screamed. This isn't right. She shouldn't even be breathing in the first place. Delilah shot up, the rush giving her a headache and her eyes squinted against the light. Once her vision came to, she threw up.

Delilah rolled on her side and her chest convulsed in on itself as she threw up whatever little food she'd had in her system. Her throat burned and a groan passed her lips as she fell on her back. The grass was soft and lightly pricked at her skin, the sun was warm and everything was just wrong.

She should be dead. No, not should. She was dead. She'd been killed. The memory was fresh in what should be her no longer functioning brain. Delilah had been sent to retrieve something from the Department of Mysteries. Kingsley didn't want her to go but she insisted. There were more pressing matters. Blaise didn't want her to go either, though he didn't know she was a part of the Order of the Phoenix. He knew it was dangerous and she'd lied to him, saying she wouldn't go but then she did.

And everything just fell apart so quickly. One minute she had what she needed, the next Death Eaters were everywhere. Delilah remembered the ache in her wrist as she moved her wand at rapid pace to fend off all the hexes. But then green started to blind her vision and a chill ran itself up her spine that made her feel stiff. They were trying to kill her. She'd nearly gotten out. She was in the Atrium, feet from the floo network. And then he was there. His black silk capes falling elegantly to the floor. The white spiders that were actually his hands held his wand lightly. He smiled at Delilah, there was incredible pain that seemed to last forever, she screamed, then there was a flash of green, and she was dead.

But now she was at Hogwarts, laying in the grass next to her vomit on the shore of the Great Lake. She rolled her head to the side and her breath hitched. The castle looked beautiful and whole. It had been so long since she saw it look like that. The Hogwarts in her brain was demolished, entire walls, floors, and towers missing. The skies weren't clear, a dense fog had permanently settled on the grounds due to all the dementors.

Delilah wanted to run inside, feel the warm heat of the fires, find a hidden section in the library with Blaise, tell absurd stories past curfew in the astronomy tower with Luna, watch Harry and Ginny at Quidditch practice, have Hermione help her with runes, sneak into the kitchens with Ron, sketch flowers with Neville, raid Zonko's with Fred and George, pester Draco, braid Cho's hair, sleep in a bed that's hers, laugh when she wanted to, cry when she wanted to.

But she couldn't.

Because this was not her Hogwarts. She didn't know where she was. Yes, it was the same castle, in a sense. But how had she gotten there? Was this some strange mirage her brain created? Was this her version of heaven? Delilah felt dizzy as she stumbled to her feet. Her clothes were the same. She'd been wearing nice black dress robes, an attempt to go unnoticed in the Ministry. Although her trainers peaked through. Her nose scrunched at the smell of her vomit as she walked towards the water.

She dipped her hands in and a chill shot up both arms. It was painful but also nice, she could feel and that was what mattered. Considering she was supposed to be nothing but a corpse at the moment. Delilah splashed some water on her face and on her neck before standing up again. It was early morning and she nearly flinched when she saw people at the Quidditch field. They were practicing and their shouts of laughter rang all the way to her. She hadn't heard genuine cheer in awhile. It sounded foreign and beautiful.

The Forbidden Forest was leering on her right while the castle tempted her on her left. Delilah felt she shouldn't go into Hogwarts. It wasn't the same, it couldn't be the same. But the forest was full of creatures that she had no defense against besides her wand. Delilah was acquainted with most of the forest, but again, who knows if it was the same? Nothing was making sense and her head began to ache again.

She huffed and turned left, marching towards the castle with immense doubt and feigned confidence. Delilah had to keep going, she couldn't just sit by the lake forever. Once she made it onto school grounds, her main initiative was to either find a professor or get to the Room of Requirement unnoticed. But what teacher? Her mind jumped directly to Dumbledore, but was he even at this Hogwarts? Her question was answered as she turned a corner, the short auburn hair and beard nearly blinded her and he-was wearing a suit?

"What the fuck?" She mumbled, completely forgetting she was supposed to be incognito. The Albus Dumbledore, the man she knew to have long silvery hair, a crooked nose, twinkling eyes behind half moon spectacles, and always with some glimmering set of robes-was wearing a three piece suit? Delilah admitted that he pulled it off with a strange elegance but it was just odd-this wasn't the Dumbledore she knew. It wasn't her Dumbledore. He at least didn't look it.

She stepped forward to say something, but what? How could she possibly explain her situation if she didn't know herself? As if some guardian angel was waiting on her, Dumbledore turned and caught sight of her. Delilah's breath caught in her throat, yes he looked different and was considerably younger, but his eyes still shined. And it comforted her.

He held an expression of curiosity as he looked at her. "Professor Dumbledore, may I speak with you?" Delilah asked, her voice shaking just barely. He smiled and she nearly tripped over air-nothing was making sense. "Of course, oh this will be a very intriguing conversation. Follow me, Miss?" He mused, excitement bubbling underneath every step he took. "Delilah Meddows." She gulped as she followed him but her eyebrows furrowed, they were heading in the opposite direction of his office.

"Why are we going this way?" She asked, feeling dumb, like she should already know the answer. He raised a brow but his lips seemed to be pulled in a permanent smile. "Where else would we be going?" He mused and her jaw clenched. So even now, this Dumbledore was still just a tiny bit insufferable. Delilah loved the man deeply, but he was so vague and too clever for her to be completely comfortable. Blaise always taunted her about it, how she just felt annoyed because she was too confused. Delilah smiled at the memory of her punching him because of that. Not hard of course, but her hand still ached and Blaise just looked amused.

"Your office." She stated and Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, we are going to my office." Her brows furrowed and she looked over her shoulder. "But the headmaster's office is that way?" He chuckled deeply and looked at her with eyebrows raised. "The headmasters office? Well isn't that quite the feat? I wonder how the ministry took to that." He laughed lightly and Delilah's mind reeled. What the hell was he going on about? "But-" She began but Dumbledore held up a hand.

"All in due time, Miss Meddows. Let's get to my office first-which isn't the Headmaster's...yet apparently- but it's in transfigurations." Delilah's mouth dropped open. He-he was a professor?

But he didn't become headmaster until 1956.

Delilah froze and couldn't find the urge to move. Even when Dumbledore turned and urged her to keep walking. Her eyes were wide and her chest constricted as she tried to repress a heave. "Where am I?" Her voice was weaker than she would've liked, but Delilah was terrified and so utterly confused. Dumbledore sighed slightly through his nose, which was crooked-much to Delilah's comfort. He gripped her elbow lightly and led her into his classroom and sat her down.

"I think the correct question is, when are you, my dear." Her throat tightened and her tongue felt so dry it hurt as she pulled it from the roof of her mouth. Her nose stung and Delilah was sure it would start to bleed and a pressure was building behind her eyes she thought she'd go blind.

Dumbledore observed her warily but still held his usual glimmer, he noticed that set her at ease and was trying his best to calm her nerves. It appeared she was having some sort of panic attack and her breathing was becoming rapid. He conjured a calming draught from his office and poured some into a goblet. "Drink this," His tone was soft and he handed it to her. Her eyes snapped to his hands. They were young and only slightly indicated signs of age. A memory assaulted the forefront of her mind-his right hand had been black and charred and practically dead weight attached to his arm. Then she fully remembered as her eyes dragged up to his face.

Dumbledore was dead.

Snape had killed him.

He'd fallen off the top of the astronomy tower.

Dumbledore was dead.

But now he was here, in front of her, young and healthy. And alive. And it was wrong and strange and confusing. She began to feel light headed and Dumbledore eased the potion to her lips, he'd realized she was about to faint and he thought best she do it with a calm mind.


End file.
